


Nigella's word is the law, son!

by hazelandglasz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Baking, Cooking, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Stiles Stilinski Being an Idiot, Stiles Takes Care Of Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:05:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2379293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazelandglasz/pseuds/hazelandglasz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>framby asked<br/>Imagine your icon misreading the instructions on how to bake a cake and everything goes wrong except sterek instead of your icon VOILA</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nigella's word is the law, son!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [framby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/framby/gifts).



All Stiles wanted was to make a scrumptious cake for Derek, with Nigella’s help—[recipe](http://www.nigella.com/recipes/view/DEVILS-FOOD-CAKE-5310), he means the recipe, he didn’t fly Nigella Lawson all the way from London just to make a cake.

All he wanted was, for once, to be the one treating his lover with sweet crumbs and shining icing melting on his tongue, all the better to kiss it away.

He even prepared extra chocolate icing, just in case Derek wanted to finish his dessert in the bedroom.

Looks good on paper, doesn’t it?

But something has gone very, very wrong somewhere, and Stiles can’t even blame the usual supernatural crap.

First, he made a mistake, believing that Instant Nesquik cocoa could do the trick, and that tepid water from the tap was as good as boiling water.

So what, he’s not a master baker like fucking Derek, he can make mistake.

Throwing the truly disgusting magma-shit he has produced, Stiles starts over, getting the good cocoa from Erica’s pantry and boiling the water in the, surprise surprise, boiler.

If only the list of wrongs stopped there.

Somehow, “creaming the butter and the sugar” is not as sensual as Stiles might have thought—not his fault, his brain is permanently in the gutter—and he ends up with chunks of sugared butter in his hair which is truly disgusting.

The only good point is that he manages to pour the flour, the baking powder AND the bicard together without making too much of a mess of it.

Until he knocks the little box of bicarb with his elbow and it sprays all over the floor like a fine coat of snow—and just as slippery, he quickly discovers when his left foot decides to go for a hike and he ends up doing a full split.

Truth be told, at this point, Stiles is half-willing to fuck it all and just buy a cupcake at the bakery and a can of whipped cream for the bedroom.

But he’s nothing if not stubborn, and he barels on, making sure that all the bowls are away from the edge of the counter while he vaccums the damn baking powder.

Now that it’s done, he gets an egg and tries to break it as smoothly as possible into the butter-sugar catastrophe.

But since it’s a day that ends with a “y”, Stiles is not so lucky and a tiny, minuscule but no doubt dangerous as fuck piece of eggshell ends up in the bowl, and let him tell you that, touching raw egg and “creamed” butter? More disgusting that even Kanima drool.

At last, with a ninja move (that absolutely does not send more chunks of butter on his person what are you even talking about), Stiles manages to get the shell out and he moves on with his recipe, adding some of the floor, the vanilla—can’t have too much vanilla, can you now—and the second egg.

And of course, now Stiles has both pieces of eggshell AND a little bit of blood that he doesn’t want to question too much because otherwise he’s going to become vegan and that just won’t do, he needs his burger without tofu, and if he thought that the piece of eggshell from Eggo numero uno was a piece of shit, getting the blood out of the mix is even more of a bitch.

But he manages, he pulls through Stiles is a hero, the crowd goes wild—yeah, okay, Ms. Steinberg’s cat blinks at him through the window, it totally counts.

Buttering the tins goes as well as it can, though Stiles is thoroughly disgusted by the feeling of raw butter on his fingers—butter is dead to him now—and he carefully, so slowly he almost gets a cramp, actually, pours the batter in the two tins, slamming them in the oven and checking the temperature and the timer twice.

As Nigella recommends, Stiles gets on the frosting immediately. Baking is not for the faint of heart, that’s for sure.

But once he pours the sugar and the water in the pan, something seems terribly wrong. It looks too … liquid, this can’t possibly be a caramel, can it? Stiles figures Nigella lost a marble on the way, and he adds some more sugar.

Except that instead of bubbling, it acts like some sort of Magma from the deep, crackling and probably burning, Stiles doesn’t know, but he doesn’t even feel confident about just throwing the pan in the sink—and adds “calling an exorcist” on his to-do list.

It’s okay, he reasons, it’s only water and sugar, not a big loss. Respecting Nigella’s instructions, he starts over, pouring the exact amount of water and sugar and looks over it like an hawk, waiting for those damn bubbles.

Except that he was so focused on it that he forgot to chop the chocolate, and he just throws it haphazardly into the pan, making the caramel hiss in protest. It clumps, no matter how much Stiles swirls and twirls it, but after a while, the heat—and Stiles—wins and the chocolate melts.

This makes Stiles cocky, and when he goes to whisk it, he doesn’t anticipate the bubble exploding and projecting hot, burning hot chocolate on the base of his thumb.

Which hurts like a motherfucking bitch, and Stiles would know about painful events.

Yeah, hot caramel-chocolate burn gets to be on his top 5.

But he pulls through, blowing some air on it before getting his rag to get the cakes out of the oven.

He should have see it coming one mile away, really, but reality strikes back: 10 minutes at that high a temperature doesn’t translate into 17 minutes, and the top of his cakes are really … crispy.

Stiles takes a deep breath to keep from crying, and he tells himself that the moisture of the frosting will hide it.

Hopefully.

Why did he try that recipe again?

Oh right, to be the one providing a sweet treat, for once.

The spreading of the frosting is an epic moment of personal failure, but after a long battle, Stiles can step away from the counter, his spatula held over his head (not a good idea, as the fat drop falling between his eyes proves a moment later).

"Ah-HA!" he tells the cake, which just sits there like it hasn’t been a nightmare to birth all along.

"Oh my God."

Stiles jumps (smacking himself in the face) at the voice behind him before turning on his heels.

Derek is standing there, eyes wide and a hand covering his mouth as his eyes drift from side to side, stopping on Stiles every now and then but otherwise surveying the kitchen.

Stiles follows his gaze, and only then does he realize how much of a battlefield he made of the kitchen: flour and baking powder are making little hills around the floor, droplets of melted chocolate paint the counter and the floor (never mind himself), the sink is overflowing with dirty pans and bowls …

"Ta-daaa?" Stiles tries, pointing at the cake and Derek follows his hands, looking at the cake, shock slowly melting away from his face to leave room for fondness.

"You’re an idiot," he says softly, carefully joining Stiles in the kitchen with a clean rag he picked up to clean Stiles’ hair. Just as Stiles is about to tell him that he could have cleaned his face too, Derek leans in, licking the droplet of chocolate from Stiles’ forehead, so slowly that Stiles feels like swooning.

It’s either a Derek effect or the fact that he didn’t eat while he was cooking.

"I just wanted to do something nice," he says, voice barely above a whisper, and Derek cups his face in his palms.

"Let me show you my appreciation then," he replies, dropping the rag on the floor in front of Stiles’ feet before following suit, pulling Stiles’ trackpants with him.

Ok, Stiles is going to go through Nigella’s whole book(s)!


End file.
